The First Cut is the Deepest
by sendintheclowns
Summary: Something unexpected happens to Sam after a hunt that solidifies the bond between the brothers. Set during S1 shortly after the pilot.
1. Chapter 1

The First Cut is The Deepest

Summary: Something unexpected happens to Sam after a hunt that solidifies the bond between the brothers. Set during S1 shortly after the pilot. Features Hurt!Sam and Protective!Dean because I proudly Pimp the Limp!

-0-

One moment he was standing at the sink, watching the scarlet colored blood bubble out of the wound in his palm. The next he was on the floor, blinking up at his brother who was on the phone.

-0-

The right side of Sam's head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His eye socket felt like it would explode from the pressure. Even his teeth ached, and the gums felt swollen when his tongue brushed experimentally over them.

This wasn't a simple tension headache. He was suffering from a migraine.

He'd first developed them during his junior year at Stanford and Jess had finally bullied him into visiting the free health clinic on campus. The doctor had quickly diagnosed the problem and prescribed an orally disintegratable medication. The orally disintegrable part was extremely important since he was nauseated beyond belief when felled by the head bangers and there was no way he could swallow something down.

Sam pulled the medication, Maxalt, out of his bag and struggled to break into the packaging. He was glad he'd renewed the prescription before they left Palo Alto. After Jess's funeral. Was that really only a month ago? He shook his head, hair flying haphazardly around his face, as he pushed thoughts of Jess out of his mind. He couldn't deal with his memories and grief now. He could only handle one mind-numbing pain at a time.

Pealing back the seal he exposed the medication and tipped over the plastic so that the white, round tablet spilled into his unsteady hand. The same hand that shook as he concentrated on guiding the white substance into his mouth and letting it dissolve.

His impatient brother pounded on the bathroom door, startling him. "Hey, did you fall in?"

Sam swallowed back the bile and waited to make sure it had subsided. He rinsed his mouth and splashed some water on his face before patting himself dry and opening the door.

Dean, lounging on a bed with remote in hand, turned his head and watched Sam with interest. "Hey, are you about ready to hit the...holy shit! What happened to you?"

Sam lowered himself gingerly to his bed. "Migraine. I took something for it, though."

Dean sighed loudly. "That bites. I really wanted to take care of the Harpy today. Maybe I should just go it alone."

Sam dropped his head into his hands. "Just give me an hour. The medicine usually works."

He heard Dean get up and move around. The drapes were soon drawn, blocking out the bright sun. "Sure, I'll wake you in an hour. Get some rest. You look like shit."

Sam could hear the disappointment in his brother's voice and hated that he was the cause. He sunk back onto his pillow and willed his body to relax. He was aware of Dean moving around the room, trying to be quiet, but failing miserably as everything he did seemed amplified to Sam's sensitive hearing.

Finally the medication kicked in and the pain started to fade in small increments while the nausea subsided. The last thought he had before drifting off was that he couldn't miss this hunt. Dean was counting on him.

A hand gently shook his shoulder, rousing him from his nap. "Hey, Sammy, how are you doing?"

Sam opened his eyes and found Dean leaning over him a little closer than was comfortable. He performed a quick systems check and realized he was pain free. He decided to test his fitness by bolting up without warning and, grabbing Dean by the shoulders, he flung him to the side so that he bounced on to the other bed. He'd passed the first test.

Next, he swung his legs to the side of the bed and pushed himself to his feet. No dizziness. "I'm good. We can roll out whenever you're ready."

His brother gaped at him from his awkward perch on the bed before Sam's words sunk in. He jumped to his feet and pumped his fist in the air once. "Yes! I knew you wouldn't let me down."

-0-

The Harpy was something to behold; it had the torso of a woman, feather tail, wings, sharp claws and a stunning face surrounded by waving, long flaxen hair. Exotic. And deadly.

The creature stood in a patch of sunlight, statue-still. Dean wasn't even sure it was awake. His eyes strayed back to its torso. The most bodacious tatas he'd ever seen were pointed right at him. He wanted to pull out his cell phone and snap some pictures. He definitely wanted to commerate this moment for posterity's sake.

Dean tucked the silver koshigatana sword, honed to a fine edge, down to his side. It was a Japanese waist sword with no hand-guard and Dean treasured it above all others in his pantheon of weapons. When he strapped it on, he was samurai. Servant and protector.

He slowly fumbled the cell phone out from the inside pocket of his worn leather jacket with one hand. Apparently the Harpy was camera shy and shrieked its displeasure. It was a mind-blowing, ear-numbing noise that had him scrambling to cover his agonized ears. The sword and cell phone tumbled from his hands to the ground.

The winged death-spirit circled around him as he fought off the debilitating cacophony reverberating through his body. He was incapacitated and at the mercy of the fantastical creature before him.

Dean struggled to hang on to consciousness as the blurry image of his trusty geek brother zoomed in and awkwardly scooped up the sword he'd dropped. His brain barely registered the grimace on Sam's lips as he shifted the sword before ducking beneath the wings and claws.

In one smooth stroke, Sam thrust the sword forward and pierced its heart. Bye bye, Harpy.

Sam dropped down on a knee next to Dean and spoke to him but his ears were still ringing. His brother's lips were moving but someone had muted the volume. Sam gave up talking once he realized Dean wasn't seriously injured and moved on to dismember, salt and finally burn the Harpy.

By the time Sam had finished with the remains of the creature, Dean had pushed himself to his feet and collected the weapons bag along with his cell phone. He'd missed out on all of the fun. He loved wielding the sword and at heart he was a bit of a pyro. Slicing and dicing followed by a supernatural bonfire just couldn't be beat in his book. Pushing the disappointment aside he was at least grateful his hearing had returned. Although he'd probably be subjected to Sam's ribbing about the Harpy getting the better of him.

Slapping Sam on the shoulder, he congratulated his brother on the kill. It was sneaky but maybe he could preempt the lecture he knew his brother was itching to lay on him by being nice. "Way to go Sammy! You're a natural with the sword."

Sam winced as Dean's voice boomed next to his ear. His brother glanced down at his right palm and winced again. "Um, not so much. I had a little trouble. Doesn't that thing have a handle?"

Dean leaned over and saw the blood streaming slowly but steadily from a cut across the palm of Sam's hand. He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wrapped it snugly around Sam's hand before pressing and curling the hand into a fist to keep pressure on the wound. "I'm thinking you're going to need some stitches there, Sammy-boy. But you've had worse. Let's get you back to the room and I'll fix this up."

He watched his brother covertly as they stowed their gear and started down the winding mountain road in the Impala with Dean at the wheel. He waited for his brother to comment about his preoccupation and resulting near death experience but Sam held his tongue. Although maybe his silence wasn't owing so much to his discretion as the gash on his hand. Or maybe it was the migraine medication that was making him subdued.

One thing he did know, he was grateful his brother had been along for this job. Otherwise he'd be the Dean worm special right now.

He and Sam had always made a great team.

Dean kept one eye on the winding road and the other eye on his pale brother. Sam seemed to be holding his own but he had to admit seeing blood on his brother's skin had thrown him for a loop. After all, he was supposed to protect his little brother, not the other way around.

The motel appeared over the crest of the next hill and Dean wasted no time in pulling the Impala into the stall outside of their room. He popped the lid on the trunk and walked back toward it. He waited until his brother exited the car and then tried to gage his stability. Sam was steady on his feet so he held the keys out to his brother. "Can you unlock the door while I grab our stuff? Better wash that cut out good and then I'll stitch it up for you."

-0-

It took some persistent maneuvering but Sam finally managed to slot the key into the door and get it unlocked. He considered himself to be fairly ambidextrous, a byproduct of his upbringing that mandated wielding weapons in either hand. Unlocking doors with his left hand apparently fell outside that scope as it took all of his focus to get the damn door open.

Mindful of the blood which had stained the handkerchief pink, he shimmied out of his jacket and dropped it on the bed. Gently unwinding the soggy cloth he dumped it into the bathroom sink as he turned the taps on and thrust his hand under the water. Picking up the small, slithery bar of soap he worked up lather with his left hand before rubbing it over the cut.

Bright red blood oozed up out of the wound and swirled gently around the drain. Sam blinked his eyes as darkness impinged across his peripheral vision. It was sort of like a migraine aura. Only his migraine was gone.

He dropped his forearms onto the sink as his knees tried to buckle. The sink and the mirror jumped around as he fought to hold on to his balance.

Sam cleared his voice hesitantly. "Dean? I don't feel very good."

He hated the plaintive sound of his voice. He sounded weak. His brother hated weakness. And so did their missing dad.

Unable to control his thoughts, voice or body, he let the dizziness and darkness claim him.

-0-

Dean turned away from the door once he was satisfied Sam had made it safely into the room and dug the weapons satchel out of the trunk. He didn't want Sam to accuse him of hovering. He didn't want to be overzealous and face the wrath of Sam but everything inside of him was screaming at him to drop everything and look after his brother.

But Sam was no longer his little shadow and even shied away from his protective streak. Things had changed while his brother made a new life for himself out west. He was more independent and mature.

Despite the changes in his brother, Dean was determined to keep Sam with him now and take care of him again. It's all he'd ever really wanted. It was what he'd been raised to do.

Slamming the trunk closed, Dean made his way inside. He saw Sam standing at the bathroom sink, assiduously tending to the cut. He set the weapons bag down on the table and pulled out the first aid kit. He quickly shucked out of his leather jacket and pitched it on the bed next to Sam's jacket.

When he turned back toward the bathroom, he noticed Sam had changed positions and was no longer standing up straight but instead was leaning heavily on the sink edge with his elbows on the rim of the porcelain.

Something was off with his brother's posture and he hustled across the room when he heard Sam's voice, soft and strained. "Dean? I don't feel very good."

Before Dean could make his way into the bathroom Sam abruptly turned and staggered a few steps before falling straight back right in front of Dean. Sam landed heavily on his butt before his head flew back and struck the linoleum that served as the kitchenette floor, hands landing behind his head.

Dean floundered for a moment. He couldn't believe it. Sam had passed out.

He didn't know if he should be embarrassed on Sam's behalf – after all, Winchesters did not pass out at the sight of blood – or if he should be worried. Maybe Sam had lost more blood then he thought.

That choice was taken away as abject terror flooded through him and adrenaline pulsed through his body on its heels. Sam's eyes stared into the distance, unfocussed, as his arms and legs spasmodically twitched in a rhythm only Sam's body understood.

Because Dean sure as hell didn't understand it. His brother was having some sort of seizure.

He started to kneel next to Sam's torso, unsure if he should restrain Sam or not. The jerking was continuous but not violent. Working on instinct now because his reason had fled him when Sam collapsed abruptly in front of him, he leapt back to his feet and pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. He hurriedly punched in 911 and raced back to his brother.

The phone was on its second ring when Sam's arms moved from where they lay stretched behind his head to hang lazily in front of Sam's face. Shivers still rocked his brother's body but his eyes no longer had that faraway look in them.

Sam's voice, wobbly and soft, held a quizzical note. "Dean, why are you on the phone?"

Relief streamed through Dean, weakening his knees. He bent over and patted his brother awkwardly on the shoulder. Sam was talking to him. That had to be a good sign. "Just relax. I'm calling 911. You're having a seizure."

The shaking had abated to an occasional quiver. Sam's face was scrunched in concentration as he stared up at Dean, his voice still puzzled. "I am?"

That's all Dean needed to hear. Without thinking he disconnected the call. Sam was aware enough of his surroundings to be questioning Dean. Maybe it hadn't been a seizure after all.

-0-

One moment Sam had been leaning against the sink. The next he was blinking up at his brother who was standing over him.

Why was Dean on the phone? The last he remembered his brother was getting the first aid kit. Surely tending to a wound ranked higher than gabbing on the phone. "Dean, why are you on the phone?"

While he waited for Dean's response he realized he was lying on the floor. How did that happen?

Dean leaned over, his skin pale and his eyes wide and panicky. Dean didn't panic. Not ever. Except maybe that time a werewolf got too close and nipped at the then 10-year-old Sam. "Just relax. I'm calling 911. You're having a seizure."

Sam held his hands in front of his face, mesmerized as the blood dripped slowly from his palm to land on his chest or the floor. The suddenly hard floor. His arms were shaking and if he concentrated he could feel the tremors in his legs, too. "I am?"

Could a person talk when they had a seizure? He didn't think so but Dean was definitely upset about something. And he didn't want to further upset Dean. His brother had been so good to him since the fire at his apartment.

His eyes followed his brother as he abruptly terminated the call and stepped over Sam's recumbent body to snatch a thin, dingy white towel off the rack in the bathroom. Dean gingerly stepped back over Sam and crouched down next to him, gently taking his right hand and swathing the towel around it.

Dean's cell phone suddenly rang, making his brother jump. "Dammit! Not now!"

Sam wasn't accustomed to seeing his brother so jittery and easily rattled. After all, Sam knew who was calling. He'd been expecting it since Dean hung up. "Dude, it's 911 calling you back."

He wanted to explain that 911 always called back if you disconnected before they answered. In fact if Dean wasn't scowling so hard as he answered the call, he would have mentioned it. But then again his brother should have known that fact as emergency calls were, after all, something the family was all too familiar with. Something was wrong with Dean. He wasn't thinking clearly.

Sam followed the conversation loosely as Dean spoke to the dispatcher while his own brain buzzed over his brother's weird behavior. He heard his normally glib brother stumble over an explanation for calling 911.

He zeroed in on the tremor and crack in Dean's voice. He couldn't figure out why his brother was so rattled. His thoughts were pulled back to Dean's conversation when he heard his brother announce they were staying at the Super 8 off of Highway H.

Dean had given the wrong address. He tried to interrupt his brother and tell him they were at a Motel 6 but Dean frowned and waved him off.

Sam normally would have taken exception at his brother's dismissal of him but it took too much effort. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the low throb setting up at both ends of his spine.

"Sammy, you with me? I need you to open your eyes for me." Dean's voice was insistent, a buzzing in his ear that he couldn't ignore.

He never could ignore his brother when he took that tone of voice with him. At a young age Dean had learned to imitate John Winchester's authoritative delivery and Sam had learned to heed it. He shifted minutely, stifling a groan, before blinking his eyes open. "I'm here. Can I get up now?"

His brother frowned at him before nodding. Dean moved out of his vision and he heard his voice from behind him. "I'm going to lift you into a sitting position but I want you to relax and let me do all of the work here. On three…one, two, three."

His brother reached underneath him and hauled him up until he was sitting. Well, sort of sitting. He was actually leaning heavily against his brother. And the room was lazily rotating around him. Maybe getting up wasn't such a good idea after all.

-0-

Sam's limbs might no longer be shaking but the same couldn't be said about Dean's own hands. His heart was still jammed up in his throat as he crouched down next to his brother and touched his shoulder hesitantly.

Sam appeared to be resting peacefully but after the seizure scare, he wanted his brother awake and talking. "Sammy, you with me? I need you to open your eyes for me."

Even his voice sounded shaky to his own ears. But he was encouraged when Sam's eyes opened at his request. Okay, not a request but a command.

His brother shifted his body on the hard tile and emitted a soft groan. "I'm here. Can I get up now?"

He wasn't sure moving Sam was such a great idea but his brother seemed to have control of his faculties. And he knew the bed would be more comfortable than lying on the floor.

The last thing he wanted was to watch Sam pass out again so they were going to do this in easy stages. "I'm going to lift you into a sitting position but I want you to relax and let me do all of the work here."

Dean moved around until he was behind Sam's head and reached under his brother, hooking his hands under his arm pits. "On three…one, two, three."

Slowly Dean tugged his brother up until he was upright but leaning heavily against him. Dean was pretty sure Sam was conscious but it was frustrating because he couldn't see his brother's face and he was pretty sure Sam was fighting off dizziness by the way he slumped back against him. He shifted his brother slightly so that his right arm was bearing the majority of his weight. Sam swallowed visibly and closed his eyes. Dean pushed his brother's bangs to the side so he'd have a clear view of Sam's pupils when his eyes opened.

After a brief moment, slightly dilated but equal pupils stared into Dean's face. He was concerned when Sam seemed content to rest in his arms. In the past, his brother would have pushed him away and waved off his concern, injury or no injury. A conscious Winchester was a competent Winchester. Maybe he should have requested an ambulance after all.

Dean distracted himself by checking the wound under the towel and was pleased to see the bleeding had finally slacked off. He wanted to stitch it up and dress it. But first Dean wanted his brother up off of the floor. If Sam wasn't able to support his own weight then Dean would be forced to carry his brother over to the bed. His back didn't like that thought but he wasn't ready to watch Sam pass out again.

He jiggled his brother lightly in his arms to coax a response. "Ready to try standing?"

Sam nodded his head wearily in assent. Dean wasn't sure his sibling was up to it but if he could just get Sam to his feet he knew he could get him over to the bed.

Dean shifted Sam back and bunched his muscles in preparation for standing. "Same as before, on the count of three."

Before he could get the count out his brother was lunging forward awkwardly and pushing to his feet. Covering from his surprise at the unexpected ascent, Dean quickly hooked Sam's left arm around his neck and reached his right arm around his brother's waist to anchor him and hold him steady. "Easy. I've got you."

Sam's limbs were weak and coltish but Dean was able to guide him over to the nearest bed before depositing him less than gently on its lumpy surface. His brother might be the baby of the family but he was taller and heavier.

Snatching the pillows at the head of the bed to the side, Dean lowered Sam back. He didn't miss the groan that escaped his brother's lips as his weight pressed against the mattress. He raised Sam's legs and stuffed the two pillows underneath.

Sam's right hand, wrapped in the cheap motel towel, lay at his side while his left arm was folded protectively across his stomach. His brother's less than alert eyes followed Dean's movements as he swept the comforter off of the other bed and smoothed it over his brother's legs. He had done everything he could think of to counteract shock.

Before he worked on the gash in his hand, Dean glanced at Sam's face to make sure he was still awake. He was met with lazily blinking eyes in a too pale face. Damn, his brother looked so young and vulnerable lying there. Before he could stop himself he brushed a hand across his brother's forehead as if checking for a fever; the adult Sam wouldn't stand for such a gesture but Dean was way past caring how Sam felt about Dean looking after him.

For the record, his brother's skin was cool and clammy, not warm. Although it was disconcerting that Sam submitted to Dean's overprotective gesture. Something was wrong with his little brother and he would have to keep close tabs on him. Now that the brothers were reunited again he refused to let anything snatch Sammy away.

TBC

A/N: Massive thanks to my beta and friend, Faye Dartmouth, who encouraged me to finish this story. Actually, if she hadn't produced the draft after my computer crashed there wouldn't be a story to post. And as always, her suggestions and patience with me made this so much better than it would have been if left to my own devices. Also thanks to Gidgetgal9 who found me the title and re-checked the story after I fiddled with it. I feel extremely lucky to have these two talented ladies on my side.


	2. Chapter 2

The First Cut is The Deepest

Summary: Something unexpected happens to Sam after a hunt that solidifies the bond between the brothers. Set during S1 shortly after the pilot.

Part 2 of 2.

-0-

Sam was having a hard time making sense of what had happened. He knew his focus was off but for some reason that didn't bother him. A part of him, the still rational part, realized this ran counter to his usual control freak personality and it should have worried him. But for the moment he was content to relax and catch his breath.

Peace was his for the taking if only he could figure out why his tailbone throbbed so much. It was an incessant ache that made his whole body tense up. He was so intent on figuring out the source of his pain that he didn't register his brother leaning over and testing his forehead for fever until he was already withdrawing his hand and frowning at him.

Dean had an array of expressions that may not be apparent to a stranger but Sam could still read him. Right now his forehead was creased while a foot impatiently tapped on the linoleum; concern was dueling with frustration. He saw Dean snatch up the first aid kit and move his way. Florence Nightingale meets Nurse Ratched.

His thoughts zoomed away to One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and before he knew it Dean was cautioning him that the peroxide was going to sting. A fresh wave of sweat broke out across his forehead as his brother diligently cleansed the wound on his palm. He kept his head firmly turned away from the action. His own blood had never bothered him before but he didn't want to chance it. Not while he was feeling so out of it.

He wriggled a little, trying but unable to find a comfortable position. The elevated legs were putting too much pressure on his tender tailbone. "Do you think I can have the pillows under my head instead of my legs? I feel kind of silly."

Dean quickly moved to comply. "Silly, huh. Not nearly as silly as you looked when you were doing the fish on the floor earlier. Flopping here and there. That was a sight."

A half smile flashed on Dean's face as he arranged the pillows against the headboard and helped Sam lean back against them. The pressure on his coccyx was still there but had improved marginally.

His brother's words about flopping like a fish finally sunk in. "Is that why you thought I was having a seizure?"

Dean adjusted a pillow one more time before stepping back and staring Sam in the face. "You haven't grown any scales so yeah, the flopping definitely played into my thoughts on the subject."

Dean's face tensed in anxiety as he talked about Sam's jitter-bugging on the floor. He'd known something had alarmed Dean but it was just now making sense; he'd caused his brother's calm to falter. Or at least his little fit had.

Dean was assembling the thread and needle when a loud knock sounded on the door. "Oh for God's sake, now what?!"

His brother swept the stitching material into the kit and stowed it under the bed before stalking over to the door. The muscles in Dean's back bunched as he answered the knock. He heard Dean speaking in a low, subdued voice and then he was turning to face his brother. "Sam, Officer Jones wants to talk to you for a moment. I'll be right outside."

Before he could register Dean's words, a tall brunette moved into the room and closed the door firmly. As the figure moved closer, Sam realized he was looking at a woman. "So, Sam, your friend says you cut your hand and passed out. How are you feeling?"

The words were delivered in a casual drawl but her pretty blue eyes searched his face with intensity. "To be honest, I'm feeling kind of stupid. I've never done anything like that before."

Her face relaxed minutely. "So, can you tell me exactly what happened here?"

A slight smile lit her face as she looked Sam up and down. He shivered a little, feeling as though he were on display and not liking the feeling.

Sam cleared his voice. He didn't have a cover story but he certainly couldn't explain that he'd cut his hand on a sword while slaying a Harpy. He'd be thrown into a straightjacket in a New York minute. He remembered cutting his hand a long time ago, when he was seven or eight. He'd have to use that as his cover. "I pushed a can down in the trash and caught it on a can. Stupid, I know. But it really bled for a while."

Officer Jones smiled widely so that it reached her eyes and a dimple twitched. "So you don't like the sight of your own blood?"

Sam didn't know if she was slurring his masculinity but he didn't feel up to defending it. His back and head were throbbing more than his wounded hand and he really wanted a pain reliever and some sleep. He reached up and rubbed his eye with his uninjured hand in a bid to keep himself awake.

The officer's attention shifted from mild flirtation to concern. "Hey, you don't look very good. Are you sure you don't want me to have an ambulance dispatched for you?"

Officer Jones was actually very attractive and her concern warmed him. But the last thing he wanted was to be checked out by paramedics or taken to the hospital. He was pretty sure he just needed some rest. And something for the pain. "I'm just sore and tired. But I'll be fine."

She pulled out her notebook and morphed back into her capacity as cop. "Could I please have your name? I need it for our records."

Sam dutifully told her his real name. He had nothing to hide. Except his embarrassment.

She tucked the notebook away and looked him in the eye, all sincerity. "I have to ask this question so please don't feel uncomfortable. Do you ever feel unsafe or threatened by your…"

Her words trailed off as she tried to find the right word. Sam sensed her discomfort and supplied the word for her. "Brother. And no, I don't feel threatened by him. All in all he's a pretty great brother. And he always puts my safety first."

And he realized he meant it. He'd missed Dean while he was at Stanford. A lot.

She broke from her official role and leaned over to squeeze Sam's left shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, but I had to ask. When someone hangs up on 911 we need to make sure that the person who called isn't a victim of violence."

Sam tried to shift to a more comfortable position and had to work to prevent a groan from escaping. "I appreciate you checking on me. And I'm sorry we wasted your time."

She shrugged off his apology. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Sam."

Officer Jones moved toward the door but paused before opening it, turning to face him. "You know, you should get one of those can openers from Pampered Chef. They don't leave any sharp edges. In fact I've got a spare one at home. Maybe I could drop it off tomorrow sometime."

It had been so long since someone had hit on him that Sam was flummoxed. "I, ah, thanks. You're too kind."

He could feel his face heating up. Officer Jones was a fine looking woman but he wasn't in the market. Well, technically maybe he could have been but he wasn't much of a one night stand kind of guy and he missed Jess too fiercely to start another relationship.

The back of his head was now throbbing as much as his tailbone. He closed his eyes and willed the pain away. It wasn't listening.

He heard the door open and close and then Dean was locking them in. "Hey, that hot babe was right. You don't look so good."

Sam cracked his eyes open and found himself begging for something to dull the pain. "Could I please have something now?"

His own voice sounded weak and had a catch to it. Breathy and needy. But he didn't care. He just wanted something to make the pain go away.

Dean reached down and gently massaged the same shoulder Officer Jones had rubbed. "I'm sorry, Sammy. You might have a concussion so I think we need to wait a while. Maybe you can have something before we turn in for the night."

Sam knew his brother was right. His mind was still fuzzy but he knew the protocol for possible concussions; check every hour for PEARL – pupils equal and reactive to light.

Slumping back, Sam eased himself down until he was more horizontal. He was completely at the mercy of his brother right now, unable to do anything for himself except lounge on the bed. It would normally have bugged him, being beholden to someone else for taking care of him, but in this instance he felt only gratitude that is was Dean. He trusted his brother. But he felt a twinge of guilt for causing him brother more work.

Maybe he could fall asleep and then he wouldn't have to hide his misery from Dean.

-0-

His brother was trying to be a stoic in true Winchester fashion but pain was etched deeply in the grooves on either side of Sam's mouth. More pain than a gash in the hand could account for.

Dean decided it was way past time he checked for broken bones. The visit from Officer Friendly had distracted him from both dealing with Sam's hand and conducting a thorough assessment of his brother's body. After all, Sam had dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the hard floor. First his ass had collided with the unforgiving linoleum followed closely by the back of his head.

Sam's eyes were tightly closed shut. Dean would start there by checking his pupils. He rustled in his bag for a moment before pulling out a mini-maglite. The room was just darkening as dusk settled in for the evening so the contrast between the shade of the room and the maglight were the perfect conditions to evaluate for a concussion.

He reached out and cupped his hand gently over Sam's closed eyes. His brother jumped lightly, and he could feel the flutter of long lashes against his palm. "Just relax for a moment. I'm going to check your eyes."

He gently thumbed up Sam's right eyelid and shone the maglite directly in his face. His brother squirmed and gasped but didn't fight Dean's hold. The pupil contracted just a tad. If he didn't know any better, he'd think his brother was flying high, doped up already.

Before he gave into the concern that was setting up residence in the back of his head, he thumbed back Sam's other eyelid. Same reaction.

And then he remembered, his brother had taken migraine medication earlier in the day so maybe it was that and not a concussion that was causing some of his brother's symptoms.

He'd been so distracted when his brother blacked out right in front of him that he'd neglected to look at the big picture. All's he could see was Sam's pale features, his limbs jerking on the worn tile. Dean had just found his brother, he wasn't about to lose him. And he'd let the panic of that thought cloud his judgment.

Dean turned off the maglite and watched some of the discomfort ease from his brother's face. Harsh lights were a bitch when it came to head injuries. He eased himself down on the edge of the bed so as not to jostle his brother.

Supporting Sam's neck with his left hand, Dean lifted it so he could sweep his right hand through the back of his brother's hair, searching for an injury. There, on the occipital bone, he found a smallish knot that had Sam pulling away and hissing in distress. He pulled his hand out and noted the absence of blood. Still supporting his brother's neck in his hand he tried to sooth his brother. "Almost there. I just want to check your back. I'm going to sit you up for a moment."

Sam's eyes slitted open as he acknowledged his brother's words. "What do you need me to do?"

The voice was soft with the edge of exhaustion. He hated the pain he caused with the poking and prodding but it was necessary if he was going to keep Sam healthy. "Not a thing. I've got it covered."

Dean lifted Sam up further off the mattress with his left hand before his right hand snaked around to support his upper back. It was difficult to maneuver his brother into position without causing him further stress but Dean stiffened his back and countered Sam's weight to lever him up. He tried to distract his brother with a running commentary, "I'm going to pull you up…that's it…let me check your spine…does it hurt anywhere else?"

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing his brother, with Sam pulled forward to rest lightly against his chest. His hands competently roamed his brother's back in search of injury. He couldn't feel anything out of place until his right hand brushed across the lower back area. His brother tensed and pushed into Dean's shoulder, burrowing forward in an attempt to evade the pressure of the hand.

It would have been an awkward moment, Sam practically draped across his shoulder with Dean cradling the back of his head with one hand and hugging him with the other to keep him from falling over, save for his brother's condition. His suffering was palpable but Dean couldn't stop yet; he needed to look at the area before he decided whether they could treat it with ice or if Sam was in need of medical assistance.

Dean took a moment to catch his breath and let Sam do the same. He'd comforted a Baby Sam a million times, just like this, while lightly rocking and crooning to him. This time he would forego the rocking and crooning but he didn't quickly shift away from his ailing sibling. Sam needed him and was counting on him.

He waited a moment, until his back protested and his arms began to fatigue, before moving. It was time to view the damage "I'm going to lay you back down. Easy. There."

Dean slowly lowered Sam back onto the pillows. Cognizant of the lump on Sam's head he smoothed the hair gently back before slapping Sam's thigh with a manly punch. "One more thing to do and then I'll take care of your hand."

He smoothly slid the pillows out from behind Sam's head, his brother wincing at the movement. He knew his brother had a high tolerance for pain so there was no question he'd really done a number on his body when he'd hit the floor with his considerable weight. "I'm going to help turn you over so I can see your…backside and then I think I can give you a mild pain killer."

Dean had hesitated over saying "butt." He wasn't sure if that was owing to his brother's modesty or his own sensibilities. He didn't want to see that part of his brother's anatomy but out in the field there were a lot of things you did because you had to in order to survive. And Winchesters were very much into survival.

-0-

Sam tried to relax but everything hurt. The light in his eyes had triggered a drum solo in his temples that wrapped around and pulsed at the back of his head. It was bad enough when Dean's hand had found the bump on his head but when he'd put pressure on his low back he'd wanted to pass out. Again.

Now Dean was intent on flipping him over to get better access to the area. Sam had been able to work open the fly of his jeans but he was unable to pull them off by himself one handed while lying flat. Without having to ask, Dean had silently pulled them off before sliding a navy pair of sweat pants up his legs and snugging them up.

By this time Sam was too sore and tired to be embarrassed. He was sure Dean was embarrassed enough for the two of them though so he did his best to follow his brother's instructions to make it up to him. The instructions were so simple even he could follow them in his addled state – don't move a muscle and let Dean do all of the work. It wasn't fair to his brother. He must really be out of shape if one little knock to his body left him so traumatized. Maybe Dean had been right; Sam had grown soft while at Stanford.

The room rocked as Sam was tilted onto his side and then turned on to his stomach. He couldn't hold back the brief gasp as his shifting legs caused pain to shoot into his posterior. Once he was in a prone position the pain faded to a tolerable level. He felt a rush of cool air as his shirt and t-shirt were hiked up followed by the sweat pants being tugged down. He shivered, not sure if the exposure or mild temperature had caused it.

Turning his head to the left, Sam pulled his left fist up to curl against his cheek. He allowed sleep to pull him in and comfort him before Dean had finished his ministrations.

-0-

Dean didn't have to undress Sam very far to see the large, red mark smudged across the indent below his spine. His brother was going to have one helluva a bruise in another day.

Straightening his brother's clothing, Dean then moved for the first aid kit. He'd assured himself that nothing was broken and although he'd monitor for a concussion he didn't think it was a serious one. He had no idea why Sam had fainted and that bothered him. Badly. But for now he'd settle for sewing up the open wound on his brother's palm.

Sam seemed more relaxed on his stomach, muscles lax, eyes hidden by lowered lids. His breathing was deep and even and Dean was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep. With his weight off his tailbone, the pain had finally eased up.

He took in the curve of his brother's pale cheek, fist resting against it just like when Sam was a baby. Apparently that was one habit Sam hadn't shed when he'd gone off to college.

Dean pulled the towel from his brother's injured hand gently so as not to rouse him. The wound actually looked pretty good with some mild oozing. If it had been on a different part of the body he might have left it alone to heal. But Sam would be constantly using his right hand so he opted to apply a few stitches to hold it together. Gathering his supplies up yet another time he was relieved when the phone didn't ring and there was no knock on the door. It was just himself and his sleeping brother.

-0-

Sam was still sore but he felt better than he'd expected. It had been a week since they killed the Harpy. Or perhaps he should say since he'd tumbled onto the floor in front of Dean and done the fish.

The stitches in his hand pulled but he knew that was a sign of healing. He still couldn't move with complete ease; pushing off of surfaces to stand was still the most painful. But while Sam had slept that first night, his brother had applied ice to his bruise. He'd never even twitched but the ice had worked wonders on his abused buttocks.

But Dean watched him with blatant suspicion. He hovered and lingered and was generally driving Sam crazy. But he conceded that had it been Dean who had passed out and flopped in front of him, he would have been out of his mind with worry, too.

Sam had a hunch his migraine medication had something to do with his one way ticket to the floor. He knew it lowered blood pressure and that along with the resultant drop in pressure due to his cut probably pushed him to the limit. But it was just a hunch and his brother was worrying at the situation with fervor. Nothing Sam said or did seemed to allay Dean's fears.

Sam had finally convinced Dean they could leave the area and his brother had agreed, albeit reluctantly. He'd made Sam sit on the bed while he loaded up the Impala which hadn't set well with him at all. But he tried to hold his tongue. He appreciated Dean's concern and didn't want to belittle it.

They'd been on the road for about four hours when Sam's tailbone began to lightly throb. He'd been expecting it and knew he just needed to pop a couple of Aleve. But Dean was hyperaware of every little shift or twitch he made and it was wearing on him. He tried to be discrete, casually reaching into his bag and withdrawing the bottle while grabbing his water. Before he could swallow the pills, Dean was exiting the interstate and looking for a place to stop. "Why didn't you say something? I knew it was too soon for you to travel."

Sam shot his brother the evil eye and grounded out a response. "You're joking. I just needed some pain reliever and it was way past time to move on and you know it."

He hadn't meant to snap but he was sick of being coddled. Loving concern was one thing but this was more like harassment.

Dean looked every bit as disgruntled as Sam felt; his face was pale with bright pink spots riding his cheeks and his lips were pulled back into a straight line. Sam was certain the brothers were going to have a showdown but Dean pulled in front of a diner and put the Impala in park before closing his eyes and visibly calming himself. "Fine. Let's take a break and get something to eat."

Sam accepted the peace offering silently by nodding his head. He didn't want to say something that would rile his brother back up. He exited the passenger seat as smoothly as possible, stretching to his full height. A reflection off a moving car hit Sam squarely in the face and he turned his head away while stepping to the side. His foot brushed the cement parking block and he stumbled a step before righting himself.

He turned back to find an angry Dean advancing on him. He took him none too gently by the upper arm and dragged him back to the car. "I knew there was something wrong. I'm taking you to the doctor. Get in. Now."

Sam knew why he had tripped but he could read the concern in Dean's face. Since nothing would deter his brother he finally caved in. "If the doctor determines I'm okay will you let it go?"

Dean's head swiveled back at him in disbelief. "You mean you'll see one?"

Sam sighed. "If that's what it takes, then fine, let's go."

Dean seemed confused at his acquiescence but quickly stuffed Sam in the passenger seat. "I'm going to ask about a clinic. Stay put."

Moving with a single-minded purpose, Dean entered the restaurant. Sam crossed his arms over his chest and reminded himself to be patient. He didn't need a doctor but they couldn't go on this way.

-0-

Sam had maintained he was fine for so long that Dean didn't know what to make of his sudden agreement to see a doctor. Maybe he wasn't feeling so great after all.

Although he had to admit that his brother was moving more freely these days. It was the seizure thing that had been weighing on his mind. He just couldn't let it go. What if there was a problem and he ignored it and Sam got sick or worse?

In their line of business they were always fighting through injuries, large and small, but nothing had ever shaken him to the core as when Sam had collapsed with some sort of convulsions before him. He felt justified in making Sam see a doctor.

They'd had to wait most of the afternoon for an opening but as the clock neared 4:30 the nurse called Sam's name to see a Dr. Yaeger. Both brothers were cranky with hunger but Sam had agreed to see someone and Dean had held him to that promise.

Dean jiggled his foot with nervous energy. He was the only person in the waiting room and he was tired of waiting. He stood up and paced around. The two women manning the front desk watched him with interest but he couldn't even work up the energy to flirt with them. Not while all of his energy was focused on his brother's health.

He'd seen a couple of nurses bustling in and out with a cart and other equipment but he tried to dissuade himself from thinking that it was for Sam. But he had to concede that all of the other patients had already left.

Dean was starting to think of possible scenarios – Sam had epilepsy, or a severe concussion that Dean had missed, or a terminal illness. He could feel his muscles twitching with anxiety. Sam had tried to tease him out of his mood but he wouldn't allow it. He had to know why Sam had collapsed; Sam was his baby brother, placed in his care from an early age, and he took that responsibility seriously.

Someone opened the door and Dean was disappointed when it wasn't the object of his thoughts. "Dean, could you please come back? The doctor would like to see you."

Dean could feel the blood draining from his face. It had to be something serious. He followed the nurse through the maze of rooms, his thoughts a blur.

He was ushered in to an exam room where he found Sam, fully dressed, sitting on the exam table while a short, blond woman talked to him. The woman rose to her feet and firmly shook Dean's hand. "I'm Dr. Yaeger. Please have a seat."

She waited while Dean sat in the chair next to the exam table. His jaws ached from clenching them. He was all nerves.

Dr. Yaeger sat back down and crossed her legs before picking up a chart. "Let me start by saying your brother is extremely healthy. He said you've really been concerned so he wanted you to hear my findings directly from me."

Dean let out the breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding. Sam shot him a look but it was one of sympathy instead of condescension. It hadn't even occurred to him that Sam might lie about what the doctor told him but it did ease his mind immeasurably. Doctors weren't perfect but with the equipment at their disposal they did get some things right.

The doctor smiled gently at him. "I did an EKG and his heart is fine. He passed the neurologic exam with flying colors. We drew some blood to test Sam's sodium level and blood counts and I'll have those results tomorrow. I don't anticipate any problems but of course I'll follow up with you about any irregularities we might find."

Dean still didn't understand and he wanted answers. "But why did he pass out?"

She nodded her head. "That's an excellent question and I can't tell you with complete certainty what happened to your brother but I do have an idea. Sam said he's been under a good deal of stress lately and that coupled with the effects of the migraine medication and the cut on his hand were enough to trigger what we call a vasovagal response."

Dean thought vasovagal response was a fancy term for fainting but he wanted to hear more. "Could you please explain that for me?"

Dr. Yaeger didn't seem in the least bit perturbed by his request and launched into a detailed explanation. "When a certain stressor – fear, pain, pressure, dehydration, etc. – occurs, it can trigger a syncopal response. Prior to losing consciousness, a person frequently experiences a prodrome of symptoms such as nausea, sweating, ringing in the ears, and visual disturbances which last for a few seconds and typically occurs when the person is sitting up or standing. When they pass out, they fall down and effective blood flow to the brain is immediately restored, allowing the person to wake up."

She explained that if the person moved too quickly upon waking it could trigger another response. He didn't know what Sam had experienced right before he passed out but he could testify to the wooziness that had assailed his brother when he sat him up. It totally explained why he'd been so passive and zoned out.

When no more questions were forthcoming, the doctor gave Sam her card and asked him to call her if he had a recurrence of the symptoms. If that happened she needed to know because it would be time for a CAT scan. Sam was told to call the clinic the next day for the results of his lab test and then the brothers were shown the way out.

So Sam, who had tolerated painful injuries in the past with nary a peep, had succumbed to stress. The stress of losing his girlfriend, of leaving school, searching for their missing dad, hunting again, hell, even being on the road with Dean. Yeah, he had to admit that Sam's life had been stressful of late.

His feelings of protectiveness had just been validated; Sam needed him and he wasn't going to let his guard down. Even if that meant occasionally going up against his own brother.

-0-

The brothers had returned to the diner for a well deserved meal after an afternoon of waiting for the doctor and then found a room in town at Dean's insistence. The night had passed without incident and Sam had just called the doctor's office and received the all clear. His blood tests had all come back within normal range.

Despite the good news, Dean still found himself searching out his brother for twinges of discomfort or impending black outs. But he'd agreed if the doctor said he was okay, that he'd let it go.

So he resigned himself to letting it go while they prepared to hit the road again. Sam was anxious to find their dad and Dean was just itching to be on the move.

Surveying the bags for loading he realized just how much he was ready to head out. But not before he ribbed his brother about his faint. "So, I have to ask you, Sam. How does it feel to faint like a girl?"

He didn't mention how much his brother had scared the crap out of him, probably trimming off one of his nine lives. Or how relieved he was to know Sam was healthy.

A slow smile spread across Sam's face. "It really hurt. So I have to ask you, if you were standing so close why didn't you catch me?"

Dean felt his face flame in embarrassment. He'd wondered that himself. He was supposed to have cat like reflexes and he had watched, dazed, as Sam had swooned right in front of him.

In his defense he'd never expected it. Brothers weren't supposed to fold up like lawn chairs for no reason.

Unable to form a suitable, biting response, he settled for slugging Sam in the arm. Very hard.

Sam, unfazed, slugged him back.

His brother wasn't sick. They were a team again. Life was good.

Finis

A/N: Thanks again to my beta and friend, Faye Dartmouth. You're the best.

Thank you for reading this story. My next story, Every Breath You Take, is a collaboration with Gidgetgal9 and we're going to post it under her account. Perhaps you'll check it out when it's finished!


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